


I'm alive; I am not so gone as I thought

by Sammy_is_obsessed



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Peter Nureyev, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not sure if I could ever hurt these two too much, Near Death Experience, Nureyev got stabbed whoops, Other, blood mention, but really who's complaining about that?, gets stabbed Nureyev: how embarrassing!, gratuitous amounts of pet names and hand holding, heavy on the hurt AND the comfort, injury mention, the ending is very happy I assure you, wump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sammy_is_obsessed/pseuds/Sammy_is_obsessed
Summary: He’s lying across both Buddy and Rita’s lap, a position that would be a great deal more humiliating were circumstances different. Jet is gunning it faster than Nureyev knew possibly for the Ruby 7; an impressive feat, considering how much speed he’d been able to pick up back when the car was in his possession. And then there’s Vespa, knelt in front of him in the cramped back seat, applying pressure to his wound.If he were a different man in a situation dire as this, maybe he wouldn’t find it in him to feel ashamed of being stabbed. But he is not a different man and, as such, Nureyev is positively disgraced.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 40
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

He’s lying across both Buddy and Rita’s lap, a position that would be a great deal more humiliating were circumstances different. Jet is gunning it faster than Nureyev knew possibly for the Ruby 7; an impressive feat, considering how much speed he’d been able to pick up back when the car was in his possession. And then there’s Vespa, knelt in front of him in the cramped back seat, applying pressure to his wound.

If he were a different man in a situation dire as this, maybe he wouldn’t find it in him to feel ashamed of being stabbed. But he is not a different man and, as such, Nureyev is positively disgraced.

“Stop moving so much,” Vespa grits, grimacing at how bloodied the gauze has become. She makes a comment under her breath about needing to stock a more equipped first aid in the Ruby 7 and he definitely concurs. 

It doesn’t take a genius to recognize that things are not well. She’s hardly chewed him out to her usual level and the look on the faces of each of his crewmates speaks volumes and Nureyev cannot curse his recklessness enough. Rita must see it on his face because suddenly there’s a dainty hand pressed gently into his shoulder.

“Mistah Ransom, this ain’t your fault. You gotta understand that.” If things weren’t so tense, he’s fairly sure she’d compare the situation to one of the recent streams she’s watched, but instead, she rubs small, unsure circles into his shoulder, her face uncharacteristically stoic.

“Rita’s right, darling,” Buddy says, and Nureyev does his best to ignore the fact that his legs are draped over his captain’s lap, “There’s no way you could have known that any of the partygoers were in possession of a weapon of that caliber – but it’s going to be alright. My Vespa will fix you up better than new.”

Vespa’s silence says far more than he’d like it to. He wants to take Buddy’s words to heart and believe that everything will be fine; even more so, Nureyev wants to believe this isn’t his fault. But neither of those things are true.

He knows how to stay vigilant. He’d hardly of had a career for this long if he wasn’t observant – which only makes what’s happened all the more disheartening. They brushed right past him and he didn’t have a clue what had happened until it was far too late. Nureyev hadn’t considered that any of the partygoers would be an issue. The crew’s sights were set on the mark, Julia Sturnes, a wealthy heiress whose dealings in a large pharmaceutical company were hardly their concern. They were yet another wealthy socialite who had more money than they knew what to do with, and money going into projects they have no idea even existed.

The object – as well as copious amounts of money – they were meant to procure from the venue was supposed to be easy, practically child’s play. They would rob the place blind and Mx. Sturnes would be none the wiser. But obviously that's not how things worked out.

No matter how much Nureyev racks his brain, he still cannot be certain who in attendance could’ve owned a state-of-the-art plasma knife like that. It likely wasn’t a model on the market, at least not legally. The blade had to have been so thin and sharp that the victim likely wouldn’t recognize an incision had been made until blood began to spill.

Nureyev doesn’t have the foggiest what the person was aiming at. Perhaps they were also interested in stealing from Mx. Sturnes and recognized him as a threat. Maybe Mx. Sturnes themself had known that something was amiss and hired someone to dispose of him. speculating does little good at the moment; Nureyev doesn’t know if he will ever truly know. Regardless, this person was incredible with a blade, because it was never in his line of sight, and not once was he suspicious of any of the partygoers – that is until he pressed a hand to his side, and it came back crimson.

At first, Nureyev hadn’t realized the severity of what had happened. He’d ducked into an empty hallway, undoing his corset and pulling his shirt up to reveal… the deepest cut he’d ever sustained. Blood was flowing freely now, and the pain was already beginning to course through him upon becoming aware of the injury. He had slid against the wall, weakness overtaking him almost instantly, holding a hand tight against the wound.

Ruining the mission was hardly something he was content doing, but in the state he was in, continuing onward would only cause more problems and he knew as much. So, he took a deep breath and made the call.

Getting him out of the party was quite the feat. Vespa was cursing him out over the comms for throwing such a terrible wrench in the plans – that is until she saw him. Nureyev will never enjoy being helpless, not in the least bit, but he hardly had a choice in the matter.

Even less so now. Because even though they all managed to make it back to the Ruby 7 and are speeding their way back to the Carte Blanche, Nureyev isn’t enough of a fool to believe that things are ‘roses and better’. he knows substantial blood loss is fatal and he hasn’t a clue if any major organs have been punctured. Until they’re back in the med bay with scanners and all of her tools, neither does Vespa.

The pain increases steadily with each passing minute, wooziness making it appear that the Ruby 7 is beginning to spin. Perhaps it’s a small blessing that at least Juno doesn’t need to see him like this…

Oh. _Juno_.

“I need to call Juno,” he blurts, feeling everyone’s eyes on him instantly.

“Mistah Ransom, I… I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“Rita’s right. You’re just gonna scare the shit out of him,” Vespa joins in, then curses under her breath when she realizes the rag she’s been using rather than the bloodied gauze has been soaked through too, “Jet, how close are we?”

“We are roughly five minutes from the Carte Blanche. Hold on, thief, we are almost there.”

“You’re going to be right as rain, Pete,” Buddy interjects, voice chipper and kind, but the expression on her face says otherwise, “Juno will fuss over you just the same when we get back to the ship. But it _will_ be alright.”

His comms is ringing the moment she’s done speaking. Juno picks up before any of them can wrestle it out of his hands, certainly not for lack of trying.

“Hey, babe. How’d the job go?”

It may be his state of growing delirium or merely the incomprehensible beauty of Juno Steel, but Nureyev is certain he must be speaking with a Goddess. Juno doesn’t have a clue what’s happened, and, for a moment, he wants it to stay that way. Juno just finished an incredibly grueling solo mission yesterday, leaving him with downtime on the Carte Blanche alone today. He doesn’t deserve the torture of what’s the come, and yet, Nureyev can’t stop himself from speaking.

“Juno,” he breaths out, shuddering at how shallow it comes out, “My love, it’s… it’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Ransom?” Juno says, his tune having changed drastically, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

The worry that’s already invaded his voice makes Nureyev’s chest ache almost as much as his wound for a moment. His voice must’ve given away far more than he’d intended because Juno sounds so afraid for him, his poor dear.

“He’s going to be fine,” Buddy interjects as quickly as she can, “There’s been a small… accident. This mission was a bust, but we’re almost back to the ship. Everything will be fine.”

“An _accident_?” Juno asks incredulously, “What kind of an accident?”

“Ransom turn off the goddamn comms. This isn’t helping,” hisses Vespa.

“Mistah Ransom got stabbed!”

Buddy and Vespa turn to Rita with a look of near horror, but Nureyev couldn’t be more grateful for the admission. He’d hardly been looking forward to telling Juno himself.

“ _What_?! Wait – how bad is it? Where did you get stabbed, what –.”

“Juno –.”

“Vespa, how deep is it?! How much blood has he lost? What –.”

“ _Love_ ,” Nureyev interrupts pointedly, “Let me speak for a moment.”

The line goes dead for a moment and Nureyev takes a moment to gather himself, breathing as deeply as he can manage before speaking.

“I love you,” he says, trying to pour everything into his next thoughts, unsure of just how many he’s got left, “I love you more than anything. You truly are… the light of my life. I hope you know how – how very happy you’ve made me e…every day I’ve spent with you.”

“I love you too. B-but why are you talking like you’re going somewhere? You’re almost back to the ship, right? And Vespa’s gonna get you patched up, and then you’re gonna be okay. You _have_ to be okay.”

 _You don’t know how much I want to be_ he thinks to himself bitterly _, You don’t know how hard I’m trying, my love. I would give anything and more to remain by your side._

“There’s... there’s so much that I want to tell you. To show you. I really did want to travel the stars with you, you know. And I’m s…so sorry I won’t be able to.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Juno pleads, wetness in his voice, “Don’t fucking talk like that, Ransom. You’re going to be fine you hear me? This isn’t how you go out.”

Passion brims in every word he speaks and, again, Nureyev is so compelled to believe him. The crew has stayed blessedly quiet during the duration of this conversation, save for Rita’s sniffling. They want to interject, surely, Buddy most of all Nureyev suspects. But they don’t and he couldn’t be more grateful.

“Juno… my love, there’s… there’s something that I must tell you,” he says slowly, cursing how weak his voice has grown. his composure is slipping with each second that ticks by.

“Tell me when you get back to the ship.”

“Love, I – I don’t know if I’m going to have that luxury, I’m afraid.” His voice wavers, vision beginning to swim.

There’s so much he needs to express but his thoughts are growing fuzzier and fuzzier. He shouldn’t be talking, Vespa might’ve said something about talking too much being bad for him right now, he can’t remember. And he certainly shouldn’t be talking about _this_ ; the small amount of rationality he has left knows it. Still, he keeps talking, “Listen to me, there’s… I need to tell you, there’s something I was going to… ask you. Something important.”

“Ransom…” Juno’s sobbing now, and it breaks Nureyev's heart to know he's the cause of it.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Juno. I n…never thought it would come to this but I… I need you to know that…” his words are slurring together, syllables beginning to mesh, “… darling, I was going to ask you to marry me.”

“Don’t do this to me, Ransom. This isn’t fucking fair and you know it!”

“I know it isn’t,” he gasps, another jolt of pain spiking, his breaths growing so shallow, “I… know, and I feel awful. But these are the cards I’ve been dealt and…” he chokes on the words, venomous and cold as they are, “…and I couldn’t die without you knowing.”

Rita’s sniffling has grown louder, and Nureyev can tell she’s struggling to hold it back. She’s not the only one who’s crying, though. He can hear it in Buddy’s breathing and Juno’s sobbing on the other end of the line. He can feel it in the tears running down his face, so unwelcomingly warm in comparison to the ice that seems to run through his veins.

“In my dresser. B…bottom left drawer. There’s a r-r-ring box.”

“Peter, _stop it_. We’ll wait until you’re healed up, a-and then you can ask me, okay?”

“We are a minute away from the ship, thief. Please, conserve what strength you have left,” Jet says, and dare Nureyev to think, with a touch of emotion in his voice.

“I w… _want_ you to have it, Juno,” Nureyev breaths out, his eyelids becoming heavier and heavier, “P-please. Take it. I l…love you. So…"

Blackness settles over Nureyev like a blanket, the voices of his crew going in and out until silence is all that remains.

=+=


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here's the happy ending I promised! I'd love to hear what you think. Enjoy the hurt/comfort!

Moments of wakefulness come few and far between. There are gaps, sometimes, little hints of consciousness; but it’s so difficult to differentiate reality from dream. In so many instances, Nureyev can’t be certain if he’s dead or alive. He’s never been a religious man, but… this strange place blurred between awareness and slumber doesn’t _feel_ like an afterlife of any kind. Is this all there is? Fleeting seconds of flickers of light followed by endless, inky blackness? Is _this_ death?

No. It can’t be. Because sometimes, if focuses as hard as he can, a small sense of familiarity washes over him. The gentle hum of the Carte Blanche’s engines, the flashes of artificial sunlight, the antiseptic, sterile aroma of the med bay. And then there are the voices… always a little too distant to make out, but he _knows_ them. He’s nearly positive he’s heard the beeping of a heart monitor in the lapses of his comatose.

Unless life after death looks and sounds suspiciously similar to the med bay, this means Nureyev made it back to the ship after all. He’s _alive_.

At least for now.

It’s almost surprising, realizing he’s lived this dangerous life for as long as he has and has never been in this position. Peter Nureyev has had his share and more of rough scrapes, but fringing on the edge of death? This is an untrodden territory, to say the least.

For the most part, though, he finds himself drifting from dream to dream. At least, he _thinks_ they’re dreams. They aren’t always all that cohesive, and one is often very different from the next. But there is one key, all-encompassing thing that links them all: Juno’s always there.

To call them snapshots of a future together would be far too shmaltzy, even to Nureyev’s recently heightened level. He’s lying on a gurney fighting for his life and he’s just dreaming. They aren’t real, not at all… but god, do they _feel_ it.

There are snippets here and there of moments: he and Juno going on a proper date, waking up beside each other each morning and feeling just as content each time, sharing a home of some kind, something entirely theirs. Their _wedding_ …

These dreams, prophecy or no, are overflowing with so much joy. He isn’t buckling under the weight of his debts, or feverishly preparing for his next job, he just feels so _happy_. He feels the way Juno makes him feel each time he meets the lady’s eye. This isn’t real, but it’s all that Nureyev has wanted since the day he met Juno Steel.

Grimly, Nureyev decides that if he does die this way, bleeding out in the med bay, but feeling no fear, no resentment… if he can die last thinking of Juno Steel, then he’s made his peace with that…

Suddenly, it’s as though a switch has been flipped. All of his senses return in full force. He smells the disinfectant in the air, he tastes the dread surrounding him, he hears the shouting, oh dear, there’s so much shouting. He hears… the sound of the heart monitor beeping incessantly and, just as he cannot keep his eyes open any longer, he sees Juno.

Nureyev has _never_ seen his lady love look so terrified.

He wants to reassure him, to wipe the tears from his cheek, and promise everything will be okay. He wants to hold him and kiss him and cling to him never, ever letting go. He wants so much, and he can have _none_ of it. Once again, darkness envelops him, this time taking him to a dreadful, dreamless place.

Well. There is _one_ thing he wanted that Nureyev is permitted. He _will_ go thinking of Juno, only, it will be the thought of his horrified, terrified expression. Damn it all.

Throughout the whole of his life, Peter Nureyev has been a fighter. He’s fought to find his place in this universe doing whatever necessary, no matter how drastic. He wants to fight now, too. He needs to stay alive. Juno’s right, this _isn’t_ how he’s supposed to go out. He wants to give staying alive everything he’s got but he doesn’t have the first clue how.

So, in the briefest moments of semi-awareness dwindling all the time, Nureyev _tries_. It comes in the form of thinking of Juno, not that look on his face, but his lady, beauteous and incredible as he is. He tries to cling to those dreams, to the idea of living for a purpose, for a person. What good it does, Nureyev doesn’t know. But he’s trying and that has to count for something. It needs to.

=+=

There are instances where Nureyev is almost positive, he can hear Juno’s voice. He still doesn’t quite know what he’s saying but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Juno’s talking at all and that he’s still around to listen. He thinks he feels Juno taking his hand in his a few times, the sensation slightly warm, just _barely_ there.

There are also moments where he’s certain beyond a doubt that he can hear his lady crying. Knowing that he’s the cause of something as awful as making a Goddess shed a tear… well, it’s nearly as bad as the stab wound itself. Seeing Juno open and vulnerable in front of him is one thing, a wonderful, trusting thing. But this? This is torture beyond belief.

Each time he’s aware enough to hear Juno sobbing beside him he tries _so_ hard to will his eyes open. When Juno so gingerly laces their fingers together, Nureyev wants nothing more than to squeeze his hand.

Juno’s right: it isn’t fair, the way he left things. Choking out what he thought to be his dying breaths, Nureyev admitted his intention to _propose_ to him. Try though he might to blame it on the blood loss, he doesn’t have the faintest idea what he was thinking. He could’ve simply expressed how much he loved him and how grateful he was to have Juno in his life and leave it there. He didn’t have any right to burden Juno so… and yet, he’s done just that.

It’s just… he really _did_ feel like he couldn’t die without Juno at least knowing. He couldn’t leave it up to the universe as to when Juno would stumble upon the ring when going through his belongings. The idea of that, his love possibly finding out months after he was already gone that he wanted to marry him, in some ways that seems worse.

The moments between some sense of awareness drift further and further away. He hears Juno’s voice less as time, however long it’s been, ticks by. He doesn’t know quite what that means and wants to think about the implications even less. He will hold tight to this life, white-knuckled and defiant as ever; it’s all he’s been left to do.

Peter Nureyev has never believed in miracles. But now, more than ever, he prays for one.

=+=

It’s the feeling of something thin and sharp being pressed into his arm that wakes him first. His eyelids flutter, seeming to weigh pounds and pounds, but eventually, he manages it. His vision swims, struggling to adjust to the bright lights shining above him.

When things do eventually come into focus, he sees Vespa beside him, adjusting an IV pricked into his left arm. He’s never been so happy to see Vespa’s face.

“Ransom,” she says, and it almost sounds like she’s happy to see him, ridiculous as that is, “Ransom, can you hear me?”

He swallows thickly, testing his vocal cords, his first few attempted words coming out garbled.

“Y…yes,” he manages after a few tries, “Yes… I can hear you.”

“Well, you managed to scare the shit out of everyone on this damn ship,” Vespa grits but there’s little heat behind her words. Good lord she _does_ sound concerned, So… nice job with that one.”

She’s walking around the room now, picking up things she needs and assessing the many monitors he’s hooked up to. Nureyev glances around, assessing the IV bag he’s attached to as well as other fluids being pumped into him. He’s dressed in a pale blue hospital gown, and goodness, it’s been a long time since he’s had to wear one of these, hasn’t it?

“How do you feel?”

What a question. Sore, pain that’s surely being dulled by heavy-duty numbing agents. His mind is foggy to say the very least, and things feel intense and bright, but… despite everything, he’s done it. Peter Nureyev has _survived_.

“Not well,” he says, “But I suppose that’s to be expected.”

“Given everything you went through, _yeah_ , it is. You needed eight stitches,” Nureyev moves to press his fingers against the bandages, “and if you think I’m redoing them if you manage to tear em open, think again.” He retracts his hand.

“You needed a blood transfusion too if that wasn’t obvious from how much you bleed all over the Ruby7’s backseat. You’d better thank Rita next time you see her.”

Nureyev’s eyebrows incline upward, his mind still so clouded.

“Thank Rita…?”

“She gave you a blood transfusion, idiot,” Vespa says. “She’s Type 0-Negative, universal donor.” My goodness, the thought of Rita, tiny as she is, giving all that blood is an odd one, to say the least. He’ll have to get her something in thanks, bright and colorful, he thinks. Something she’ll love.

And then –

“ _Juno_.” He gasps the name out, his head just beginning to clear enough to think properly. His eyes dart wildly around the room as if the ex-detective is hiding in the corner or is crouching in the cabinets. “Where is Juno?”

Vespa groans, clearly having expected the question.

“Steel’s sleeping. Captain’s orders. He stayed awake for a day-and-a-half looking after you. No matter how many times I tried to boot him out, stubborn bastard.”

“A day-and-a-half…” Nureyev mutters, throat still so raw and mind so caught up with the fact that Juno sat with him all that time. That all of the instances where he could hear his voice and feel his touch were blessedly _real_ , “wait… how-how long have I been out?”

“Roughly forty-eight hours.”

“ _Forty-eight hours_?” Nureyev exclaims, the horror of that seeping in, “I… what?”

“You were lucky,” Vespa says, her attention focused on the scanners she’s examining. But her body language suggests more worry than she lets on, just a tad too stiff, “You were real fucking lucky, Ransom.”

He knows. Of course, he understands that; he’d felt himself slipping closer to the edge of death, he’d felt its cold, firm embrace. But, as it turns out, hearing it from a medical professional is a different thing entirely.

“I… how severe were things, in the end?” Vespa lets out a long sigh and oh dear, that can’t be good.

“You flatlined at one point. Steel was in the room and, well, he freaked. Jet had to get him outa there so I could stop you from dying. It was… bad.”

Nureyev doesn’t know what to say. Knowing that Juno witnessed _that_ and needed to be removed from the room is heartbreaking in every way imaginable. He _flatlined_. He was on death’s door, and no matter how much he tells himself that he already knew that, and that he’s alright now it’s still terrifying.

“Oh,” is what he manages to come up with.

“You’re welcome for saving your life, by the way,” Vespa grates, “Could’ve left you for dead, y’ know. Considered it a couple of times, but I figure Buddy wouldn’t have appreciated that too much.”

"Thank you, good doctor, for not ‘leaving me for dead’,” Nureyev says, more sincerely than he’d intended it to come out.

“Sure,” says Vespa.

“So…,” Nureyev clears his throat, “I… well, I was wondering –.”

“ _Yes_ , I’ll have someone wake Steel, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Nureyev can’t help the smile that appears, thoughts of how Peter Ransom might approach this situation long since out the window.

“Thank you.”

Before that, Vespa gives him a rundown of his condition. He’s stable now and will be fine but will need to stay at least one night in the med bay for observation, just in case. The wound will scar, perhaps quite severely, but there’s nothing that could’ve been done to change that. Nureyev considers all of the times Juno’s been scared in his life and decides it’s only fair he’s gotten one himself. He can live with that.

And then… Vespa leaves the room and, a familiar figure appears in the doorway. Walking carefully into the room, bright as the room is, Juno is, for a moment, hallowed in light. His angel, his Juno.

The bags under his eyes are deep and Nureyev feels terrible for waking him, he clearly deserves more sleep. But, god, he isn’t sure he’s ever been so thankful to see his Goddess.

“Hello, Juno,” Nureyev says, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The statement doesn’t come out nearly as suave as he’d intended.

“Nureyev,” Juno says, his voice hoarse. He breathes it out like a prayer. As though his name is precious and divine as if _Nureyev_ himself is divine. Quickly, he sinks into the uncomfortable metal chair beside him, scooting it closer so that he can reach for Nureyev’s hand without an IV in it.

It’s terrible, realizing he doesn’t have a clue what he’s supposed to say. _I’m sorry for almost dying. I’m sorry I frightened you the way I did, I never meant to. I’m sorry I spoke as though I’d never see you again, I didn’t know._

This train of thought is swiftly interrupted when Juno begins to sniffle, visibly shaking.

“Oh, Juno, my love,” Nureyev says, realizing unhappily that he cannot, in his current state, wrap his lady love in a hug, “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“I’m sorry – _shit_ , I’m sorry,” Juno says, scrubbing a hand under his eye, “I didn’t t-think I would –.” Nureyev gives his hand a squeeze.

“Love, it’s _okay_. You haven’t anything to apologize for, not at all. Juno, you don’t know how happy I am to see you.”

“I think I might have an idea,” Juno sniffles, holding Nureyev’s hand like it’s a lifeline and scooting his chair so that his knees are pushed up against the side of the bed. He swallows thickly, his breathes quavering, “It’s just… you were… y-you…”

“I know.”

“You were… _gone_ , for a moment there. You were _dead_. You were dead, Nureyev.”

“I’m alive Juno. I’m here with you right now and I am _alive_ ,” Nureyev says firmly, cupping Juno’s jaw with one hand, running his fingers along faint stubble. The Ex-detective’s tears drip onto his hand and Nureyev realizes he’s likely moments away from crying himself.

“I was so scared,” Juno says, his voice nearly a whisper, “I – I really thought that… that I was gonna lose you.” Nureyev runs his thumb along Juno’s jawline, hoping it comes across as comforting.

“So did I, dear. I was just as scared of losing _you,_ ” he says, feeling tears welling in his eyes. The words weigh heavy on him. ‘So did I.’ He wasn’t prepared to die by any means, but he was under the impression that he needed to be.

“Uh- how’re you feeling?” Juno asks, rubbing his eye, “I um, I probably should’ve led with that.”

“Better now that you’re here,” he answers, knowing it’ll lift Juno’s spirits if only a little, and when Juno’s lips curl into a small, unsure smile, he’s proven right.

“Flirt.”

“Have you got a problem with that?”

“You know I don’t,” says Juno. They’re both ignoring the fact that they’ve got tears in their eyes. They’re ignoring a great many things, other than the fact that they’ve been reunited.

“But really, how do you feel?”

“For lack of a more eloquent term, I feel like shit,” Nureyev answers, and the look on Juno’s face darkens, growing panicked, “It would be odd if I felt well, no?” Juno sighs.

“Yeah, guess so. I just, are you okay? Like, do I need to get Vespa to up your pain meds, or –.”

“I’m going to be okay, Juno,” he says, forever and always taken aback by how caring his dear detective is, “Vespa’s hooked it up so that I get a dose every couple of hours. I’ve had worse.”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

“Yes… yes, I suppose we do,” Nureyev says with a frown, “I’ve never been in quite as delicate of a situation as this was. But I’m not anymore. That’s what matters.”

“Were you lucid at all, when Vespa or when… I was in here?” Juno asks hesitantly.

“A little. It was rather fuzzy but, many times, I knew when you were there, Juno. Thank you, for staying beside me, my love. You really could’ve gone to your room for a few hours of sleep –.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten any sleep if I’d gone,” Juno says, “I was wired out of my mind, Nureyev. I don’t know how I managed to fall asleep at all, to be honest.”

“Because you’d gone so long without rest. Did you sleep well?” Juno shakes his head, holding Nureyev’s hand so gently, as though he’s made of glass.

“No, no I – well, I had a shit-ton of nightmares. Not surprising, given the circumstances.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, my love,” Nureyev says feeling so inadequate. “Juno, dear, is there anything I can do to ease your mind?” Juno lets out a snort, his hazel eye blown wide.

“You’re asking _me_ if there’s anything _you_ can do? Nureyev, baby, you’re in a hospital bed. I’m hardly in a position to be making demands just because…” Juno hesitates, stopping himself.

“Because... ?”

“Because I’m still – still _so_ scared that you’re going to disappear,” Juno says, holding their joined hands to his cheek reverently.

“Juno…”

“I _know_ you’re not. I- I know you’re gonna be okay. I asked Vespa, like, a hundred times about your condition, even when you were out of the woods. But… shit, Nureyev, you were out for two days and – and I was so afraid that if-if I left the room, you’d b-be gone. And then… then I did because Rita told me I-I needed to get something to eat. A-and when I came back… back into the room you were f-flatlining…”

“Oh, Juno,” Nureyev says, voice low and apologetic, “dearest love, I am _so_ sorry you had to go through that.”

“’S okay,” Juno sniffles, now absentmindedly drawing circles against Nureyev’s wrist, “It… it isn’t your fault. I _know_ it isn’t your fault… wait,” oh dear, Nureyev knows that face too well. Juno’s studying him, cataloging each change of expression, each tiny detail. His instincts as a detective will never lesson, he supposes, “You know it isn’t your fault… right?”

“Dear, please. Let’s not talk about this now.” Juno sighs, deflating.

“Okay. If you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s fine. But” Juno pauses, his tone growing authoritative despite the whirlwind of emotions they’ve both been hurtled into, “we _will_ talk about it, eventually.”

Nureyev should’ve suspected that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to fly, at least not with Juno Steel around. And, despite years of habit begging him to ‘file it away’, he can’t escape the knowing eye of Juno Steel. His feelings, like it or not, are bound to come out sooner rather than later, and, despite his hesitations about such things, the fact that it’s Juno makes it a little more tolerable.

“Those seem like fair terms.”

“Well, good…” Juno says before going uncomfortably silent. He’s still tracing shapes on Nureyev’s wrist and palm, touching him as though he’s a piece of fine art. But he’s uncharacteristically quiet, and Nureyev isn’t sure he knows why.

Neither of them is crying anymore, at least not right now. Things seem okay, considering Nureyev is alive and Juno’s with him and everything’s going to be fine. So why does the air around them still feel so tense? Why…

Oh. _Right_.

“Darling?”

“Hm?”

Nureyev makes sure Juno’s making eye-contact, knots already managing to materialize in his stomach.

“Is there something on your mind? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“I can be quiet sometimes!” Juno defends, his volume quite the opposite of quiet, “Okay, maybe not _most_ of the time, but still. I’m just… processing everything, y’ know?”

“I do,” Nureyev responds, slipping his hand back into Juno’s, “There is a rather lot to process. But, dearest, are you positive there isn’t something more pressing going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Juno looks nervous and Nureyev can confirm that he knows just what his lady love is thinking.

“I… uh, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“So fucking much. Don’t remember if I said it since we were on the call. I mean, I said it to you a lot when you were asleep, a-and I know you know I do but –.”

“Juno.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Lean over here and kiss me, would you?”

Juno’s eyes light up as if he’s just been offered a fabulous prize; it would be impossible not to find it adorable.

“For sure. Of course,” Juno says eagerly, then pauses. Adjusts himself so that he doesn’t have the slightest chance of touching Nureyev’s injury.

“Love, you don’t need to be _that_ cautious. I’m not made of glass, you know.”

“S-sorry, I just –.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just kiss me.”

Juno does. He cradles his face delicately and presses their lips together and it’s everything Nureyev has been dreaming of since the moment he woke and even before that. He ignores the fact that his lips are badly chapped, and the fact that he must look a fright. He supposes nearly dying gives him an excuse to look as awful as he does. He focuses instead on the warmth of Juno, his plush lips against him, a sensation he was positive he would never get to feel again.

When Juno pulls away, both of them are wearing delirious smiles. Nureyev could kiss those lips every day for the rest of his life and be just as content as he is right now. And so, once again he poses the question.

“Juno, are you sure there isn’t _anything_ I could do to ease your mind? Anything at all?”

The look on Juno’s face screams panic and suddenly Nureyev fears he’s backed himself into a very narrow corner. Maybe he shouldn’t be pushing so hard. Maybe this isn’t the way to go about things at all. Maybe –

“Well there, uh. There was one thing I kinda wanted to… talk to you about. If you wanted to.” Thank goodness.

“Oh?” Nureyev plays innocent, knowing Juno sees right through it, “And what would that be, dear detective?”

“C’mon, hon,” Juno groans, looking a strange mix of nervous and embarrassed, “Don’t make me say it.”

“Are you perhaps referring to something I said over our call?” Juno’s face is growing flushed and he can’t quite figure out what to do with his hands. First, they were holding Nureyev’s, and then he was fidgeting with the necklace that he’s wearing, and now they’re kind of just hanging limply by his sides.

“Yeah…” It comes out a whisper.

“Do you perchance recall where I said the… object was?”

“Your dresser. Bottom left drawer,” Juno answers automatically, as though he’s been giving it a great deal of thought.

“Have you opened the drawer yet?”

“N-no! Of, course not. I couldn’t do that b-before you woke up…”

“Would you like to now?”

“Nureyev…”

Nureyev’s heart beats wildly in his chest as though it’s trying to break through. He’s positive Juno’s is beating just the same.

“Would you go and retrieve it for me?” Nureyev asks, trying very hard to keep his voice steady.

“Nureyev, a-are you sure?”

“As sure as I’ve ever been, love. Please, bring it here?” Juno slowly rises from his chair, his expression a strange mix of uncertain and uncontainable excitement.

“O-okay.”

Juno quickly disappears from the room and returns even faster. He’s holding the small box white-knuckled. He sits back down, back ramrod straight. Nureyev reaches out to press a hand against Juno’s wrist, feeling the tremors that run through him.

“Nureyev…” Juno says, turning over the velvet-covered box in his hand.

“You can open it if you’d like.” Nureyev was hardly taking the traditional route when proposing to him on his assumed death bed, so why change his course of action now?

“This… this is really fucking happening right now, isn’t it?” Juno asks as if it isn’t obvious. His fingers stop just short of opening the box. Nureyev smiles.

“It is if that’s what you want, my love. I meant everything that I said on the call. You mean everything and more to me, Juno Steel. Each day I fall more in love with each and every part of you. I never pegged myself as the marrying type… but that was before I met you.

Because from the moment I met you, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. And I do, more than anything. I want to travel the stars with you, I want to wake up beside you, I want to sulk as you insult my inability to cook. I trust you with my life, Juno, and I want nothing more than to spend it with you.”

Tears are once again slipping down Juno’s cheek, but this time, Nureyev is positive it is not out of sorrow.

“I…” Juno intakes a shaky breath, sobs not ceasing, “I think that speech is s-supposed to be followed by a question.”

Nureyev laughs wetly, motioning for Juno to open the box. When he does, he lets out a gasp, his eye blown wide.

“Holy shit, baby,” he says, smiling so wide it threatens to split his face in half. Then, “Oh my god there’s a receipt in here! N-no! You did _not_ pay for this, with real, actual money.”

“The receipt right there in your hand, if you’d like some more evidence. Juno,” he says slowly, taking Juno’s hand, “Will you do me the utmost honor of making me the luckiest man in the galaxy, and marry me?”

“Yes! O-oh my god, yes! I love you, Nureyev. I love you so fucking much,” he hiccups, laughter mixing with sobs.

Utter relief floods Nureyev’s system. He did not doubt Juno’s answer but hearing it, _actually_ hearing it… incredible doesn’t even begin to cover it.

He carefully procures the ring from its box. It’s fairly simple, a gold band. But the teardrop-shaped emerald that sits in the center of it sparkles beautifully and Juno can’t take his eyes off of it. Juno muffles his cries as Nureyev slips it onto his finger, a perfect fit, thank god. The moment it’s on, Juno stands and cups Nureyev’s face in his hands, kissing him as senselessly as he can, careful of Nureyev’s injury.

Soon after, the rest of the crew will be brought in to see ‘Ransom’ in his stable state. He’ll thank Rita for the blood that saved his life, and Vespa again for the very same thing. He’ll thank Jet for gunning it as fast as he did back to the ship. He’ll thank Buddy for forcing Juno to get some rest, bless her soul.

But for now, Peter Nureyev will cherish the life he was lucky enough to keep. He will cherish this Goddess before him who has promised to share that very life with him. For now, Nureyev will cling tightly to everything good in his life, hoping to never let it go.

=+=


End file.
